A Little Problem
by elizabethroz
Summary: Winky wants Dobby. Dobby wants to fix the shelf. Chaos abounds.


A/N: Written at the strict command of Laqueta. Don't even think about taking it seriously.

**A Little Problem**

The shelf was lopsided. That was the problem.

That was the problem that led Dobby into the broom cupboard in the first place, the problem that had him hovering alarmingly in mid-air, putting up a valiant attempt at straightening the thing.

A problem that was unexpectedly worsened when the door shut behind him with a surreptitious _click_.

"Hello?" squeaked Dobby into the darkness.

There was a small sound of movement. His brow furrowed as he sank to the floor, his thin arms wavering madly to catch feel of something.

"Oh, Dobby!" crooned a voice in the darkened closet, "I is seeing how diligently you is working!"

Without another warning, two quick hands darted toward him and firmly grasped his wrists. He wriggled furiously, trying to get back out of reach --

"I is always looking for commitment in a house-elf."

His tennis-ball eyes blinked open, catching sight of the face looming into view.

"Winky?"

Her bright, bulbous nose bobbed in the dark.

"Mghmph!" shrieked Dobby, partly because he was too surprised to say anything else, but mostly because the fact that Winky's tongue was suddenly in his mouth spectacularly decreased his range of articulation.

It really was a shame about Winky -- ever since being sacked by the Crouches, she hadn't been the same. 

Her mouth tasted of butterbeer.

Being torn between avarice and pity was almost as interesting a place to be as it was to be shoved between Winky's body and the wall.

In the end, Winky's body won out, much the same way that the dregs of hesitancy immediately vanished when her hands locked firmly around his back.

He gripped the hem of her frayed skirt and tugged it off completely, tossing it down amid the tidy cleaning supplies and nearly upsetting a mop that was standing upright. She moaned into his mouth, slamming him down against the floor.

House-elves could be quite aggressive, when called upon.

Presently, she had moved to kiss his neck while his tiny fingers fumbled with her blouse. His thin chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath coming in ragged and harsh, stinging his throat and drying his mouth.

Winky wasted no more time before ripping down his oversized shorts, sweater, and socks. She even managed to get his tea cosy, flinging it away into the darkness despite his petulant protests.

By the time that they were finished, they lay panting on the floor of the closet, an indistinguishable tangle of smooth, bare house-elf limbs.

Just then, there was a noise outside the door.

"Harry?" said a voice. "Could you--erm--come here for a sec?"

With only a frantic look to spare at each other, the two house elves scrambled to the back of the closet, diving beneath the lowest shelf, huddled in the pitch black room and vaguely clutching at each other's arms.

The door swung open, letting in an avalanche of light and the silhouette of two unmistakable students. They left it just the slightest bit open, a sliver of ochre spreading over the floor.

"Harry," breathed Hermione, her cheeks tinged pink in the soft light, "Oh, I've wanted this for so _long_..."

And saying so, leaned forward for the quickest, most adorable peck of a kiss.

Winky was gesticulating wildly; as far as Dobby could tell, it was an elaborate scheme to Disapparate and simultaneously push the two love-struck students from the cupboard.

Resolutely, he shook his head No. 

With some dismay, he turned his gaze skyward to the lopsided shelf. He would not leave his work undone.

Winky's eyes bulged. Fuming, she leaped at him, in the process knocking over a tall bottle of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Mess Remover. It clanged to the ground, unleashing a chain effect of cleaning supplies as the entire contents of the closet rolled, slammed, and crashed across the floor.

Startled, Harry gave a shout, springing away from Hermione.

"What the--?" 

Winky wailed. Utterly distraught, she sank to the floor with her face in her hands, her thin shoulders hitching with uncontrollable sobs.

Dobby stood, unabashed in his naked-house-elf glory, staring at the horrified students.

_This_, he reflected, his eyes darting up to that terrible shelf, _is a problem_.


End file.
